


In Vino Veritas.  Or Not.

by CB (maidamedia)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidamedia/pseuds/CB
Summary: A first time story, set in Rome, 44 AD.  Crowley and Aziraphale attempt to find a creative way to convince Hastur and Gabriel to encourage their relationship.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	In Vino Veritas.  Or Not.

**Author's Note:**

> Authors: MSL and CB. If I could get it through the form, I would.

As the door closed behind them, the noise of the bar - their third since leaving Petroneus' - lessened substantially, the smell of stale, cheap wine and unwashed bodies replaced by a sharp wind that brought its own unpleasant smells of the poorer parts of a crowded city. Urine was especially sharp in the nostrils, drunks not always making it very far from the bar before needing to relieve themselves.

Before he could fall into one particularly reeking, noxious puddle, Aziraphale felt his elbow grabbed by a strong hand and his balance steadied.

"You were perfectly right," the voice beside him said, its deep tones not quite as steady as the accompanying hand might have suggested.

"I was?" Instinctively, the angel turned in the direction he knew was home. Why he knew it was, he wasn't sure, but something told him that if he went in that direction, all would be well. And listening to his inner self was something he was well accustomed to doing. "I worry sometimes about whether I'm right." At a sudden lurch, the hand became a strong arm that gripped his waist. Strange, what a warm feeling that gave him. Giving in to an urge, Aziraphale allowed some of his weight to rest on the arm, which trembled for a moment before drawing him in tighter against a slim, tall body.

The world might be particularly fuzzy at this moment, but Aziraphale was happier than he'd been in months. One moment he was alone. Again. The next moment HE was there. And the most wonderful thing about this entire wobbly world was that there was a reason for that arm to hold him close. If that's what it took to have Crowley hold him, why Aziraphale thought he might well stay sozzled for the rest of his supernatural existence.

They had moved to the end of the cluster of buildings, the narrow path they were on crossing another dark alley, before the sentence repeating in his mind made it through the fog in his brain. "What was I right about?"

"Even Caesar's horse wouldn't have drunk that last bit. Just how did you ever discover that hole? It's not the sort of place I ever pictured you in."

Aziraphale's foot stopped, and the two of them lurched awkwardly against the wall. "Did you really picture me? That's nice. No one's ever told me that they thought of me when I wasn't there." The strong arm forced him on. "Well, I was there. Of course, I was. I mean when someone else was... where I wasn't. And thinking of me. Not me not being there, I mean. Just nice."

"Are you too sloshed to know that you're tipsy?"

"I could sober up if you want." The offer was only reluctantly made.

"Don't," was the quick response. "I'm rather enjoying you in this state."

"I am, too," Aziraphale admitted. "By the way, where are we going?" An attempt to slow down to put some of his failing energy into clearing his brain fog was thwarted by the arm that tightened around him, causing their hips to bump.

"You're taking me home with you, remember? Be interesting to see something more than a room in an inn. And you did mention wine."

"Not fancy but nice not to move every other night. Wouldn't mind settling down here for awhile. Ever think of doing that? Lots of work for both of us." Stopping suddenly, the angel pointed. "There. First floor. But we have to be veerry quiet. The landlady has a baby that squawls like the demons of hell," a quick apologetic glance. "So we sneak, very quietly." He demonstrated this by attempting a rolling tip-toe to the door, which opened as he approached. 

But their precautions turned out to be in vain, as the baby was already in full scream as they made their way up the steep, narrow steps. A wave of Aziraphale's hand opened the door to the flat and they passed into the living room, the noise receding only slightly as the door closed itself behind them. "Teeny little miracle so the door can't be opened while I'm out. Wouldn't want to lose some of these things after four thousand years of collecting them," he explained to Crowley, who was looking around with interest after having waved the lanterns on to burn with an even brighter flame than they usually did for Aziraphale. The angel wrinkled his nose at the slight scent of hell fire, then smiled. "So, what do you think?"

But Crowley's reply was interrupted as the stuffy room began to spin, and Aziraphale was suddenly sick all over the rich, red Persian carpet. That same, ever helpful arm held him up as he completed the removal of a soggy pile of brown, sour wine, oysters and wild sow's udders from his stomach, the latter something he had hoped never to see again. It had been bad enough the first time around.

Staggering away from Crowley, Aziraphale collapsed on a pile of cushions against the wall and closed his eyes. The stale, revolting smell was suddenly replaced by the fresh fragrance of lavender. A smile spread across Aziraphale's face. He'd been gifted with that rug by one of the Parthian kings, but he'd be blessed if he could remember the man's name. Short. That he remembered. Barely came up to Aziraphale's chin. With a taste for crude jokes, but absolutely phenomenal taste in clothing fabrics. The angel let his hand drift over his own soft, white robe. Quality always mattered. The silence that fell abruptly on the room was startling. "Oh, that is so much better! The noise of the drummer in my head is much clearer now."

"Drink something. Make you feel better." The tone was rather abstracted as Crowley leaned over a table, examining the collection of artifacts arranged there.

Aziraphale half-opened one eye and, when the room stayed relatively still, opened them both. It had been way too long since they'd been able to spend more than a few minutes together. And rarely did he get a chance to just lie back and look at Crowley. The hair was stylishly short, but the elegant, silver _corona civitas_ that rested on it gave him a particularly devilish look. He'd laid down his sunglasses, the better to examine the various pieces laid on shelves and tables, floor and wooden hooks. And everywhere, the scrolls.

In response to a glance over Crowley's shoulder after Crowley had picked up a two-handled, silver cup, Aziraphale nodded. "That restaurant in Cairo. You were on your third bottle and kept asking everyone for a pearl to dissolve in the wine to improve the flavor."

"It needed sweetening and they claimed to not have any honey. If you remember, I never did pay for that bottle."

"And, if you remember, they suggested that we take our afters down the street. By the way, that story made the rounds of most of Egypt. I hate to think how many people tried that pearl trick." A few steps further on Crowley paused again, leaning closer to a small drawing on the inset niche shelf.

Watching him, Aziraphale smiled. "Yes, I kept it. I thought it was rather good." "It" was a caricature of Gabriel at his starchy, priggist best that Crowley had sketched on a random piece of parchment.

"And you're not afraid that Gabriel might drop by sometime? You might find yourself sliding down to join me if you're not careful."

As Aziraphale awkwardly got to his feet from the mound of pillows, the angel shook his head. "Gabriel's still into the burning bush approach to messages. Last month, for example, I was visiting Sparta and walking down that main road - you know, the one along the water. I never noticed that pieces of shrubbery kept breaking into flame behind me until some farmers came running out screaming and throwing buckets of water all around. Drenched me. Turns out I was late with the previous month's blessing report."

Picking up the silver cup Crowley had put down, Aziraphale laughed. "Could have set the whole area on fire. Like to have seen how he explained that!"

He glanced at the drawing that Crowley had put down. "Gabriel would probably love this. Makes him look just the way he thinks he should. You got that supercilious grin perfectly." A faraway look came into his eyes. "Do you remember that Egyptian dish that came with the wine? Unlike some chefs, Kalem knew exactly how much honey to use so that the flavor of the dates and figs weren't overpowered." Shaking himself mentally, he glanced over to where Crowley was laying down a quick stone on the half-finished Terni Lapilli game in the corner. "We should go back there. Kalem is long gone, of course, but I'll wager someone in Cairo still makes that dish."

With a flourish, Crowley laid the last stone, winning again. While he continued wandering around the crowded room, Aziraphale took the goblet across the room and laid it on a table, under which he began rummaging among old jars until he found what he was looking for - an old, dusty amphora, its label almost unreadable. Pulling it out, he miracled a small cloth and dusted off the jar, checking the description engraved into the sealing material, then nodding his head in satisfaction. "I've been saving this and we are both getting way too sober." The cloth disappeared.

At Crowley's raised eyebrow he explained, "A grand cru vineyard just beyond the city limits. Hand me that knife, will you?" As Crowley picked up a marble dagger, its edge honed razer sharp, Aziraphale smiled again, nodding his head to indicate the blade. "That little girl the father was about to sacrifice. You put on your big monster head and he grabbed her and ran screaming down the road." Taking the knife from Crowley, Aziraphale began carving away the animal dung blocking the opening. "I met her some fifteen years later. Sweet little thing. Already had three children."

"Did wonder if he ever got on with it again later." Crowley picked up the silver cup and held it out as Aziraphale hefted the heavy vessel up, carefully pouring till the cup was almost full, then setting the pottery back down again. "Wondered later if I should have said something and not just roared."

"Did the trick, so..." Aziraphale shrugged then indicated that Crowley should drink first. After a long swallow, Crowley handed the wine back and Aziraphale inhaled deeply, then slowly sipped in appreciative pleasure. "There's a smokiness that's very subtle, and the merest hint of..." He rolled the wine around in his mouth again. "Thyme. Definitely thyme."

After refilling the cup to the brim, Aziraphale followed Crowley onto the pillows, where they began seriously lowering the volume. While Crowley glanced around at the more austere furniture from the midst of their middle eastern splendor, the angel took the opportunity to watch him again. It was a profile that wouldn't have looked out of place on a gold coin. At a glance from Crowley, Aziraphale indicated the room with his chin. The two-handled cup took a good two hands to hold. "Not elegant, but comfortable. Comfort means something when your body is over four thousand years old. A toast. To warmth for aging bones."

"This is actually rather good," Crowley admitted, as he imitated Aziraphale and held the wine in his mouth before swallowing.

"Better than the rot gut you were drinking earlier tonight." Aziraphale leaned his nose into the cup Crowley handed over and inhaled deeply. "And just as good as I hoped it would be." He waved the cup clumsily in the air, the strongly alcoholic drink beginning to have its effect, making up for what he'd lost to the carpet earlier.

Crowley grabbed the goblet before it could spill over Aziraphale's robes. Or Crowley's own! "So this is what you were planning to tempt me with? Not bad." Sipping again, he smiled broadly. "I'd rather thought you might be suggesting something a little different."

"Crowley!" But Aziraphale's heart wasn't really in his protest. The long night of drinking was finally taking its toll, and he dimly realized that if he didn't get to bed now, he'd have a backache in the morning. "Here, give me a hand."

Getting to his own feet, Crowley put down the cup and duly offered the requested hand, hauling Aziraphale to his feet. "I'm for bed. You sleep out here. Last time you shared my bed, you threw off the cover and I froze." A flip of the wrist and a blanket appeared on the pillow pile. Another and the amphora resealed itself. Indicating Crowley should finish what remained in the cup, the angel staggered to the bedroom door, leaving Crowley standing there staring after.

Aziraphale had just managed to get his robe off and hung on a wall hook and slip on a nightshirt, when Crowley appeared in the doorway, blanket dragging behind him. "We always share a bed. But you keep that blanket and I'll keep this one." There was satisfaction in Crowley's voice as he threw himself onto the side of the bed he always took when they stayed together.

Sighing in exasperation, but too knackered to argue, Aziraphale collapsed onto his own side, pulling the cover out from under Crowley, who almost fell out of the bed, muttering something incomprehensible. Through the door, Aziraphale could see the lights go out.

In the darkness, there was now only a loud breathing and an occasional mutter. "Are you really going to sleep in your clothes?" Aziraphale complained, rolling over and punching his pillow.

What must have been an acknowledgment came from the darkness on the other side of the bed and, suddenly, his own robe, and he had to assume Crowley's, disappeared. Burying his face under another pillow, Aziraphale pulled up his blanket and fell asleep.

************************************************

It was only a few hours later that Crowley woke up. Awareness was instant. He was in bed with Aziraphale and starkers to boot. It was with an effort that he kept himself from laughing out loud. What a day of contrasts. He snuggled down a little more beneath the blanket and enjoyed the feel of smooth, luxurious fabrics. Trust Angel for knowing how to enjoy the better things in life. Though his own bed was more of a perfect fit for his body, there was something about this one - he stretched out in pleasure - that just felt better.

Yesterday, he thought back, hadn't started out with much going for it. Same old, same old. Three points for encouraging evil from the naturally bad. Five if you could tempt the good. Of course, he never submitted his points to Hastur in his reports, but keeping score that way just kept the boredom from becoming completely mind-numbing.

He'd gone to Caesar's palace for inspiration. Even though the points were less when working with the type of crowd that typically congregated there, they were the sort that were easy to tempt into the behaviors that would look good on his report sheet.

The most common sin was greed. So common, in fact, that he rarely had to encourage anyone into anything. All he had to do was keep track of each act of avarice as he came across it, and hope that he didn't run out of ink before he'd filled a parchment full enough to impress Hastur. And it was easy enough to stop by the occasional drunken revel in the evening, so that he could collect the detailed descriptions of gluttony and debauchery that always got him the "Well done, Crowley" notations in his file.

Crowley had started yesterday morning in his normal state of mind. Bored with life and annoyed. Hastur's appearance earlier in the day had actually cheered him up. Having something to do - having anything to do - was infinitely preferable to writing down the 11,346th example of coveting someone's wealth, wife, or repute.

So he'd sauntered over to the crowd of Caesar sycophants, hoping that he'd find someone with at least a modicum of original evil. And he'd found one. Marcus Antonius was a con man with an ingenuous scheme for building viaducts in a relatively remote area that was neither known for copious amounts of water, or for much non-porous stone. But the location he was proposing was positioned on the trade routes, which meant that he might be able to talk some greedy consuls into pushing the idea for adequate kickbacks, an idea Crowley was more than happy to assist with with a few nudges to some of the less high-minded politicians. So, all in all, it hadn't been a bad day. Just so damned predictable.

Glancing to the side, Crowley smiled. _"Well,"_ he thought, _"perhaps not completely predictable."_

Rolling onto his side, Crowley watched the sleeping angel, whose blanket had slipped down to his waist. The room was brightening and his white hair blazed in the low light. There was very little hair on his chest, and his skin looked as if it would be like silk to touch. To someone who loved art, as Crowley did, that angelic body was beginning to pick up the translucent sheen of alabaster as the dawn broke outside.

Not seeing someone for twenty or thirty years can seem like an eternity between times, but the long wait made those times together completely memorable. If asked, he could have enumerated every encounter he'd ever had with his Angel over much more than four thousand years. He'd grown to know every lovable characteristic of his friend, and every attribute that made him want to shake Angel until his teeth rattled.

Eternity can sometimes feel every bit of its name. And then, sometimes, you experience a moment that you can only wish lasted forever. Angel was too far across the bed to touch, and Crowley wouldn't have touched him anyway if he could have reached him. That wasn't the kind of relationship they had.

Which started Crowley thinking about their relationship. From early on, he'd felt protective toward the angel. But it wasn't just sympathy for Angel's occasional bumblings that drew him. There was a firm, strong character and a first class mind underneath that sweetness. And just the occasional touch of sarcasm that lent a soupcon of spice to keep the sweetness from becoming cloying. Complicated, that's what Angel was.

And, too, there was the simple fact that Angel liked him. A lot. And how many souls had ever existed in time or space that actually liked him. Angel was like a warm cave in which to huddle on a cold night. A refuge when one existed in an emotional ice age. A place in which you could stop running and simply be.

But this was the first time Crowley had ever been in a place that his Angel had made semi-permanent. And the fact that it was filled with memories of their times together was disturbing. They were proofs of a closeness that Crowley needed no proof to admit. But they were also dangerous in a way his Angel didn't seem to understand.

Would Gabriel recognize the meaning of the pieces, if he wandered the room? Some, perhaps not. They could be random experiences which Angel found some need to occasionally recall. But some... That drawing of Gabriel. Crowley had had a reputation before the Great Battle for mischievously creating cartoons of the higher up angels among the heavenly clouds, allowing the images to distort and disappear with the winds. Gabriel would recognize the sketch, Crowley had no doubt. And he guessed that there would be other mementos that also gave away what the two felt for one another.

Some of the memories were good. Arguing over who was going to tempt Alexander the Great toward evil or good, while they never even noticed that the entire army had packed up and moved out. Only the tracks in the dirt telling them the direction to take if they were to have the slightest chance of being an influence on the man. In the end, it had been glaringly obvious that Alex wasn't about to listen to either one of them. So the trip had become more about rousing song and drink by the campfires and less about attempting to influence the direction of the western world. Angel's souvenir of that trip had been a ring woven from elephant hair. Crowley had suggested at the time that he might also want to collect a sample of elephant droppings - they'd certainly seen enough of it - but Angel had not been amused.

The bad memories were scattered around the living room, as well. A plague that had devastated an entire city, and for which Crowley had received another of those damned "Well done" notes. It had started with a sailor who had been infected by a rat. And where the rat had gotten it was something no one would ever know. No one, of course, except the one who knew the fall of a single sparrow. How She kept track of all of those deaths, Crowley didn't want to know.

It was bad enough to watch the bodies pile up by the doors, taken away in carts driven by men who would soon take their own places there. It was the children that tore Crowley's heart apart. And Aziraphale's. What was there for either of them to do in that maelstrom of disease and despair? He'd wondered if it had been a punishment on the city for some sin but, if it were, his Angel knew nothing about it and there was no Ark to save a single soul.

Aziraphale had insisted on waiting until the last one had succumbed, and then had stood back and watched as Crowley set the place ablaze in a hell fire that seemed as terrible as it was appropriate. They'd stayed together for a month after that, traveling as far as possible from the town, even though they'd found it impossible to leave the memories behind.

What Aziraphale had kept was a small gambling chip engraved with the name of the town. Before the plague had struck, they'd spent a few evenings in a casino there drinking themselves into a stupor while randomly choosing this one or that one to miracle into a win or a loss.

But those weren't memories he wanted now. Right now, he wanted the comfort of listening to the quiet breathing on the other side of the bed.

Angel was getting careless. Or his need for Crowley was growing dangerously strong. That brought a rush of pleasure that Crowley quickly suppressed. Unconsciously, he stretched out a hand to the distant figure, trying to feel some warmth across the space. Then, realizing what he'd done, he pulled the hand back and sighed.

But the thought of the danger Angel was making for himself wouldn't leave Crowley's mind. If they were human, Crowley would have said that his angel was in love with him. But they weren't human. And Crowley knew that he was no angel and nothing good would ever come to Angel from those feelings for Crowley but pain. He sighed. Disillusion was something that everyone, eventually, had to come to grips with. Perhaps it was Angel's turn.

The question was how to disillusion him without pushing Angel so far away that they lost all of the closeness that Crowley valued. Well, if the danger was great enough to Angel, Crowley knew he could manage on memories. But what to do to disillusion Angel just enough. A fine line. Those were the ones Crowley most enjoyed walking.

For several minutes Crowley mentally wandered through various scenarios and then he stopped. Oh, that was too cruel. A smile formed on Crowley's lips that would have turned Angel cold if he could have seen it. Telling himself that it would all be for Angel's good, and maybe, just maybe, teach his angel that demons weren't safe playmates, Crowley's smile turned to quiet laughter. This was going to be fun!

In a moment, Crowley had miracled away their blankets and put a slight downward tilt into the center of the mattress. It wasn't long before gravity encouraged the sleeping figure into the middle of the bed, and then into the warmth of Crowley's arms. The plan was delayed for a few minutes as Crowley bent his face to the white curls, smelling Aziraphale's hair and rubbing his cheek lightly through it. But, finally, he settled down and slowly brought one free hand of Aziraphale's to rest on his own organ. Before he could tell his organ to engorge, it quickly grew erect and Crowley's breath caught at the unexpectedness of his response.

*****

It was a dark and stormy night. And if Aziraphale had not been so desperate, he would have been tucked safe and warm in his very own bed. But, instead, he found himself on a wildly pitching ship in a middle of a fierce storm. Waves as tall as the Corinthian columns in Heliopolis crested nearby and it was only through his intense concentration that he was able to miracle a path for them through that liquid inferno, as lightning flashed and thunder deafened.

It took a moment for him to divert his attention enough from the survival of the small boat to remember why they were here. Crowley. How could he have forgotten? Crowley was lost somewhere here and his existence might well depend on Aziraphale's ability to find him in this maelstrom.

Ignoring the screams of the rowing crew, crying out that they had to turn back if they wanted to live, Aziraphale forced them on, amplifying their progress by the force of his will while the wind screamed his fear that they'd be too late. That Crowley - that insufferable, exasperating, deeply-loved demon - would be lost forever.

And then, before desperation overtook him, Aziraphale saw it. There, in the distance, a spot of light. Yelling to the rowers to put their backs into the oars and fixing his will - his determination - to reach that spot, his ship was suddenly there. Just feet away from Crowley's.

Who was dressed in the skimpiest of throngs and sunbathing in a pool of liquid sunlight on the deck of a perfectly safe, gently rocking ship.

Conflicting emotions tore through the angel as he suddenly found himself on the deck with Crowley, his own ship disappeared in the surrounding waves.

"Angel! Finally! What took you so long?

Emotions mirroring the surrounding storm and calm, Aziraphale found himself dumb with fury and relief and could only reach out and take the cup of wine that Crowley poured for him and held out. At the first sip, he could feel the panic begin to slip away. At the second, it felt as if he'd been here - safe and warm - forever. The taste was like nectar and a smile spread across his face as he looked around for a chair of his own on which to settle.

But then Aziraphale looked down and realized he was also wearing only the smallest piece of cloth to hide his modesty and that Crowley was smiling widely at him. Slowly, the demon stood up and turned around and bent over to the deck, fingers seeming to caress the smooth, polished wood. It took a moment for Aziraphale to realize that his friend wasn't searching for something lost, but waiting for something to be discovered.

Above, the storm receded and music filled the skies with praise and glory for the beauty of the body there before him. Stepping confidently forward, he slipped the cloth down from the smooth, silken bum and let his hands slip over the mounds and one finger lose itself in tight darkness. At the moan this caused, he glanced down at himself and realized that his own pants had evaporated and in front of him the most massive erection he'd ever seen rising majestic and impatient before him, glistening with lubricant and waiting to fulfill its destiny.

Hardly breathing, he grasped himself and placed the tip of his organ in that place he'd often dreamed of entering.

*****

But the movement was bringing Aziraphale awake and so Crowley closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing softly and evenly. There was a jerk on his knob that indicated that Aziraphale was now fully awake. For a moment he thought the hand would pull away, but it didn't. The warm breath that fanned his cheek came faster now and the muscles in the hand almost involuntarily tightened.

Eyes still closed, Crowley stretched then lay back, his cock feeling suddenly cold as the hand that had held him jerked away with Crowley's first motion.

"Don't stop. It felt good. But I really don't think I can go again. That last time was a bit dry and I think I'm going to be sore when I get up."

It was a good thing he'd had millenia of practice at lying with a straight face, Crowley thought, listening to the gasp of air beside him.

"Go again?" Aziraphale's voice wasn't quite steady.

Opening his eyes, Crowley looked at the face just inches from his own and, giving in to temptation, kissed Aziraphale's nose. "How you got it up three times in the condition you were in last night..." Without letting the angel answer, Crowley leaned forward again and kissed him full on the lips. "Just let me say that you surprised me." Another kiss, slower now. "Very pleasantly."

Crowley leaned back and closed his eyes, giving Aziraphale some privacy to come to grips with the scenario he'd just been given. "But keep rubbing me. Feels good."

The bed bounced as Aziraphale quickly retreated and incoherent sounds told Crowley that his angel was not dealing with the situation quite as quickly as Crowley had expected he would. Now Crowley did smile. This day was definitely not going to turn out to be the same old boring day that yesterday had been. Stretching, he opened his eyes and crawled out of bed, giving the still stunned Aziraphale a quick smile as he miracled his robe back on and headed for the living room, throwing over his shoulder, "Just let me get a quick cup of wine and we can head out for some breakfast. Okay?" He decided to take the sounds his angel made as agreement.

************************************************

The familiar figure beside Crowley had a decidedly unfamiliar look on his face. While Crowley drank down the mediocre watered wine, Azilaphale poked at his bread and cheese, and nibbled at one of the grapes on his plate. Glancing over, Crowley encouraged, "At least have some wine. You'll never get through this day without alcohol."

Aziraphale winced and shook his head. "I really think I'm going to give up drinking. My head is still ringing from last night. I don't remember when I was that drunk."

"You're not regretting what happened between us, are you?" Acting requires believing in one's drama and Crowley could feel himself tensing as he awaited the angel's response.

When Aziraphale finally shook his head and quietly said, "No." Crowley didn't even notice that he'd begun breathing again.

"But my memory of last night is fuzzy. I'm starting to think there's a reason Romans water their wine. That vintage had to have been a lot more potent than I'm used to." Pouring a little more water into the wine, Aziraphale sipped, then glanced over at Crowley, and back to his cup.

"I remember every time we did it. Want me to remind you?" Crowley glanced around the crowded restaurant. "Here?"

Throwing some money on the table, Aziraphale got up and left his unfinished meal. "Not here!" he announced and led Crowley - who only paused to empty his own cup - out and into the street. Choosing the path that led to the amphithreatre, Aziraphale moved at a fast pace, Crowley hurrying to keep up. With nothing scheduled for the afternoon, the empty benches stretched high above them. Already you could see the signs of age. Since the oval floor was frequently criticized for not being large enough for the pageants most beloved by Emperors and populace, there had been talk for quite a while of the need for a new, larger Colosseum. But, for now, this would do. Aziraphale led Crowley to an empty area midway up, then settled down on the wind-swept stone and looked at his friend.

"I don't remember anything," Aziraphale admitted bluntly. "What happened?"

Glancing anywhere but at Aziraphale, Crowley matched his directness. "We had sex, and if you can't remember, you're missing a treat. You had a great old time. Went at it like a pro. Surprised I can still sit down."

"So we got into bed and..." The angel's voice was insistent, but quiet.

Realizing he wasn't going to get out of here without a story, Crowley took a deep breath, composed his features and met Aziraphale's eyes. "You said you were too hot and threw off your cover. I made a joke about your nightshirt and you miracled away both yours and mine. I wasn't expecting that but it was fine. Then you scooted over and kissed me on the mouth. I thought it was another of your jokes, but then it wasn't." The silence expanded and when Aziraphale still said nothing, Crowley almost shouted in frustration, "Then you sucked me off, turned me over and shagged me until I thought we were going to break the bed. Satisfied!"

"You said we did it three times," Aziraphale said quietly.

It took Crowley a moment to get his story straight. "Well, we did. Had to rest up a bit, but then you had another go at me. You're insatiable once you get started." A grin seemed appropriate at this point in his story, though Crowley could feel the corners of his mouth trembling.

"Well, then, clearly I enjoyed it. Did you?"

"What do you mean, did I enjoy it? Of course, I did! Wouldn't have done it otherwise." It was getting harder and harder to keep meeting that calm, unjudging gaze. Crowley looked away first. "Was fine. Couldn't have been better."

"So now we're lovers?"

That brought Crowley's head back around in an instant. "Of course, we're not lovers. That was sex. Once and over. In and out. Not saying you weren't great but, come on, Angel, we could get caught if we keep doing it. My gang might enjoy the thought that I'd corrupted you, but yours?" Shaking his head at even the thought of Gabriel hearing the story, Crowley's pale complexion whitened even more. Instinctively, he grabbed one of Aziraphale's hands in both of his and made his point as strongly as he could. "I don't know what you imagine I'm really like - some romantic figure - but I'm a demon, Angel, and you're - well, you're an angel. It's a mix more likely to end in hell than in heaven. Loving me would destroy you."

The tableau froze for almost a minute, gazes locked, both faces flushed.

"How long have you known?"

Crowley didn't pretend not to understand. "That you loved me? Just since last night. But, thinking back, maybe I've always known."

"For four thousand years?"

"At least." The grin that spread across Crowley's face was real. "Back before the Great War - when we still used to fly around as one big heavenly host. I used to see you watching me. Didn't mind. Actually, sort of liked it."

"You had a beautiful voice," Aziraphale said softly, his free hand moving to clasp the two holding his. "Sometimes I'd let you lead the melody and follow you with a descant." His face softened, remembering. "Everyone knew who you were." The angel's voice ripped through Crowley as it hardened. "If I'd have had more courage then, and approached you, you might not have spent your time with the ones you did. And when the break happened, you wouldn't have gone with THEM."

"Don't be stupid! You couldn't have stopped me. I couldn't have stopped me. That's why I fell. No guts. Always took the easy way."

"GUTS!" Aziraphale shouted. "Do you know what I was doing during that great battle?"

Crowley's voice never raised from its quiet tone. "Of course, I do."

There was dead silence as Aziraphale took that in. Then his expression changed.

"I couldn't see who it was, but someone turned Gabriel away just as he was about to see where I was hiding."

Crowley made no move or answer.

*****

Tension had been building throughout heaven for what had seemed then an eternity. The organization had been clearly established from Day One of existence. Seraphim ruled the rest. The other eight choirs of angels were subdepartments, expected to take responsibility, but also to follow orders.

Most of the Cherubim could accept their roles in the divine order. After all, they still had six other choirs to boss around, and rarely had to kowtow to the higher ups. In fact, it was perfectly natural that they'd begun to think of themselves as the actual rulers in heaven, since they were the ones that had to do most of the work. Or so Satan explained to the others when the heavenly hosts were settled down for their regular get togethers, a jolly time that was had by all.

Of the other angelic choirs, the one next to the bottom was the Principalities. These, once humankind was created, were the ones assigned to do the real work - interacting with individuals and explaining to the higher choirs why these creatures who had been inexplicably (or ineffably) created with free will were doing whatever it was they were doing.

The lowest choir, due to a mistake made in transcription during the creation of heaven were called archangels, and their responsibility was much like that of the Principalities except that they were assigned to the lowest level of individuals - politicians.

The problem was that the same name was assigned to the Seven Archangels (capital "A") by that self-same, since damned, angelic transcriber. Gabriel and Michael had never forgiven He-Whose-Name-Is-Forever-Banned-From-Being-Spoken for not giving the real rulers of Heaven (always excepting Her) - who ruled over even the Seraphim - from having their very own, unique name that didn't have to be qualified by a single capitalization.

But leaving bureaucratic organization and returning to the heavenly problems... There existed among the Principalities two angels, as we'll call them to avoid confusion, Crawley and Aziraphale. Before humankind had even been thought of, they'd done their share of singing Her Praises and making sure that all the other angels had kept up their own work schedules of adoration and group support, as well as being sure that everyone was turned out for Gabriel's inspections. Robes clean. Wings with not a feather out of place. Harps at the ready.

Although Aziraphale was, himself, a pattern card of perfect appearance and attitude, even he had to admit that he wasn't very good at making sure the angels under his department were just as well shined and spiffy. If you looked closely, as Gabriel unfortunately did, you might also notice that his voice in the heavenly choirs was not always perfectly on key, and that he was too quick to forgive the faults of those he was responsible for keeping up to the mark. But since his robes were always of the most sparkling white, and his wings absolutely glowed with careful tending, these small faults were overlooked.

Crawley, on the other hand, while just as well turned out, had the voice of an angel and a face of such patrician beauty that he stood out among all the lesser angels under his authority. But his crew was actually among the best turned out, because he knew how to use his authority. Sometimes quietly; sometimes with a snap that brought all to attention and awaiting his opinion on their appearance or their conduct.

His own attitude toward the higher ups had an insolence that made Gabriel yearn to find something - anything - for which he could write Crawley up, but the angel always kept himself just that much from crossing the line.

On one propitious day, Crawley had happened along just as Aziraphale was lining up his troops for inspection, and having trouble keeping them in place. Fear of Gabriel's wrath had made him more nervous and less effective than usual and, when Crawley had casually brought Aziraphale's troops in line with a single sharp word and glare before passing on - and Aziraphale had even received a complement from the Archangel on the day's review - Aziraphale had become Crawley's most ardent, and secret, admirer.

When the choirs would sing, Aziraphale would find a place close behind Crawley and use Crawley's sure pitch to find his own - or, at least, one close enough to not bring Michael's wrath down on his head, Michael being exceptionally fond of choir directing.

This attraction had caused no problems. If anything, it had eased life for both angels. When things seemed about to get completely bollixed up, Crawley seemed to always be sauntering by to straighten out the situation before it became a more obvious mess. And when Crawley seemed to be about to get himself into a permanent, and eternal, hole with Gabriel, Aziraphale seemed always to be around drawing Gabriel's attention with some clumsy attempt to do something that needed immediate correction.

On one unforgettable afternoon, if you could give a span of eternity that temporary designation, Crawley had been in a particularly good mood and had teased Aziraphale into a race through the heavens that had ended with them throwing themselves into a particularly soft cloud, arms around one another and laughing as though the moment was, itself, all of eternity. For that moment, for Aziraphale, it was.

They'd never talked of it, and Crawley had never again teased him into any private indiscretion, but Aziraphale was sure that it had affected Crawley as much as it had himself.

And on that fateful day, the day that the peace of heaven was torn asunder, Aziraphale hadn't even known that the battle was on or that there had even been two sides forming - Satan's side and the side of Gabriel and Michael. It was only when the heavenly trumpets had sounded out a battle call - every angel was trained to recognize all the trumpet calls, but none had believed the more militant calls would ever really be needed - that Aziraphale's first thought was "Where was Crawley?"

Crawley, it turns out, was having a right good time in the middle of the action. Now it's not at all clear, in retrospect, that he had the faintest idea that it was going to be the Great Battle rather than a fun-loving free-for-all, but it is true that he was the one that slugged Michael when the angel was busy kicking Hastur off one of the thrones used by the Thrones angel choir. And Michael had turned around in time to catch him at it.

In the meantime, Aziraphale had finally realized just how serious things had grown. Though angels don't bleed, the equivalent of angel blood was being shed from one end of heaven to the other. As he searched frantically for his friend, the ranks of angels were being formed into units and weapons were being distributed. Weapons. To hurt and injure and, possibly, destroy. No. He couldn't do it. There was no way he was going to make it through that field of battle without either having to harm another angel, or be damaged himself. He couldn't prevent being issued a weapon, but he could choose - by angelic free will - not using that weapon.

So he hid. In a corner behind one of the Thrones. And waited to discover what the outcome would be. And wondered where Crawley was, and whether his friend had found his own place to hide.

On and on the battle raged until the air was filled with shrieks that would later be part of the fundamental definition of hell. Streams of angel blood designed the floor in abstract patterns and the battle raged for yet another eternity. As the shouts grew louder and the blood began to flow into Aziraphale's sanctuary, he glanced out to see if there was some place better to which he should run. But the battle line was solid and moving toward his place of concealment.

Suddenly, Gabriel broke the line and mounted the throne next to the one beside which Azeraphale now stood frozen, waiting for Gabriel to turn and discover him. Not knowing if that would mean he would be considered friend or legitimate foe. But before that could happen, there was a movement out of the line that challenged Gabriel and, with a cry, the Archangel raced forward and a smaller, personal battle was joined.

In the confusion, Aziraphale broke free and raced to an area through which the battle had already passed, slipping and sliding, and sometimes falling, until his own once white robe looked as though he, too, had been a casualty of war.

*****

"That was you. You distracted Gabriel from me." There was no doubt in Aziraphale's voice now. An explanation that had festered, because unspoken, was torn out. "I couldn't fight." He squeezed Crowley's hands. "There had to be a way to bring us all back together. I couldn't fight YOU."

Without knowing how it happened, Crowley found Aziraphale in his arms, their lips and tongues fighting now when they hadn't fought so long ago. There was a sense of almost desperation and suddenly Crowley found himself with Aziraphale back in Aziraphale's bedroom, and then he was naked, and then...

************************************************

"That tickles!"

Lifting his head from under the blanket, Crowley looked up at Aziraphale, who was collapsed, eyes closed and an absolutely angelic smile on his face.

"It won't get up," Crowley complained, and ducked back under the covers.

At Aziraphale's yelp, Crowley did desist and come out to collapse beside him. They shared smiles of satisfaction and delighted discovery, before the angel raised an arm and tucked Crowley against his side. Outside, the cries of street vendors could be heard and, downstairs, a baby joined in. They laughed as two miracles coincided and a pure silence surrounded them. Crowley removed his version and nodded to Aziraphale, who adjusted the din that came into their private space down to a comforting murmur of unintelligible sounds.

"Much better," Crowley agreed, running a hand over smooth, warm skin as he closed his eyes to feel every bump and depression beneath his fingertips. When Aziraphale lazily swatted the hand away, Crowley just moved it to another spot and started in again.

"That thing you did earlier," Aziraphale said, his breathing becoming slightly faster as the hand moved downward.

Crowley thought for a moment. "With you touching the floor with your fingertips?"

Aziraphale nodded. "It reminds me of something I saw in a book."

"Awww," groaned Crowley. "You're right. There was this great, illustrated tome in Alexandria. At the library. Mouseion. Always thought that was a funny name."

"Named for the Muses. The book was by Hektoros. You'd have loved him. Practical joker. Obsessed with sex. Even chased me around a few desks."

"He never!" Crowley sat up suddenly.

The angel pushed Crowley back so that Crowley could continue with what he'd been doing. "Of course, he never. I'm very fast when I want to be."

"You didn't want to be today."

"Well, you're different."

"True." Getting down to some serious sucking, there were no sounds for a while but panting breaths and small cries. But before finishing, Crowley returned to Aziraphale's side. "Slow down. Making it last makes it better."

"That's from the book," Aziraphale said with frustrated delight.

"Shame it burnt. Not much into books, but that one was special."

"It didn't."

Sitting up suddenly, Crowley stared down at his partner. "You didn't! You stole a book from The Great Library?"

Guiltily, Aziraphale nodded. "Quite a few, actually. I told myself that I was only borrowing them but, after the fire, I almost convinced myself that it was virtuous that I took them. Because I really did mean to return them. Someday."

"That's wonderful! You wouldn't happen to have it here, would you?"

The smile faded. "No. I keep a protected storehouse and only carry around a few of my more portable necessities - like the bedding and the tableware..."

"And the marble dagger," Crowley reminded him with a smile.

"Yes, well, we don't see each other as often as I'd prefer and I do like having memories of some of our adventures about the place."

"What kind of souvenirs are you planning to collect of our newest adventures? How about I pluck out a few hairs from each of us and you can put them in a box. But given the way we're both smelling just now, I suggest we stop down at the Baths first." Ducking back down under the covers, Crowley began pulling lightly on Aziraphale's pubic hairs. "This one. Once it's clean. And maybe this one."

"Aziraphale! Where are you? This door is stuck."

A yelp said that at least one pubic hair wasn't going to be available later. Crowley rose from beneath the covers to stare at Aziraphale, who was staring in frozen horror at the bedroom door.

"I sealed it. Better safe than whatever the phrase is," Crowley whispered as he miracled his robe on and looked around the room for a hiding place. Sighing, he crawled under the bed as a smell of fresh lavendar filled the room and, simultaneously, Gabriel blasted the door open, staring at Aziraphale, still frozen in bed and completely starkers.

"I told you to get a house plant. How can I get in touch with you if there's nothing here to set on fire? And what are you doing still in bed at this hour? You aren't sick, are you?" Gabriel asked, backing away toward the door.

On cue, Aziraphale coughed once, then again, as Gabriel took another step away. "And what's that hellish smell?"

"Lavender," Aziraphale said, pulling the covers up to his chin. "Humans say that it eases breathing when your lungs are congested." An artistic cough punctuated the sentence.

As Gabriel attempted to wave the air away from his face, Aziraphale offered, "I'm feeling much better. Would it be too inconvenient to meet at the amphithreatre tomorrow? I've been looking forward to giving you my report on how well the little family down by the docks has been doing. Ever since I made him allergic to wine, the father hasn't beaten his daughter once."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure that's all very good, but you really need to be concentrating on the influence makers, not on individuals." Waving at the air again, Gabriel retreated another step. "Fine. Tomorrow at day break, so that you can get in a full day's work. And, Aziraphale, get a house plant! I don't want to keep having to show up on your doorstep."

There was dead silence in the bedroom for almost a minute after the pop of air racing in to fill a vaccuum was heard from the living room. Then Crowly crawled out from under the bed, dusted himself off, and ran his fingers through his hair. "You need to clean under there more often."

A click of his fingers and a cup of wine appeared, which he gave to Aziraphale. That seemed to unfreeze the angel, who gulped it down, thanked Crowley and got out of bed, taking the robe Crowley held out and returning the cup. It blinked out to wherever it had come from.

"Let's get out of here, Crowley. I'm going to need a great deal of alcohol before I'm good for anything. And I don't want to think about Gabriel dropping back in with a Get Well card."

On that thought, they bumped in the doorway as they hurried out the door.

************************************************

By unspoken agreement, they'd ended up back at the bar where they'd met the night before. Crowley had paid for a small jar and they'd taken themselves off to a secluded table in the corner which just happened to empty of its large party as they approached.

The first fifteen minutes was spent in serious drinking but, for some reason, neither of them seemed to be finding the oblivion for which they were searching.

Seeming to get up his nerve to ask, Aziraphale examined the wine at the bottom of his cup as if it were the most interesting thing in creation. "We hadn't done it before, had we? Those three times you were talking about. This was a first for both of us."

"And a second. And a..."

"Why did you tell me that story?" the angel insisted, now meeting Crowley's eyes.

"Thought it might embarrass you enough to put you off me. Didn't though, did it?" Shaking his head in exasperation, Aziraphale emptied his glass. "I really am trouble, Angel. Have you thought what would happen if your side knew how we felt about each other?"

"We. Better, Crowley. You might not have heard this, but confession is really supposed to be good for the soul. Let me be the judge of what's good for me or not. I'm well over the age of consent and I choose of my own free will to consent. You didn't need to play any of your games with me. All you had to do was talk to me and let me decide what risks I'm willing to take. Remember that for the next time you feel like making decisions for me.

"Now, let's concentrate on what's really important. I think it's my turn to buy the next round." And waving his empty cup and picking up Crowley's, Aziraphale made his way across the room to the barmaid, beginning to negotiate for something a bit better than what they'd been drinking. Crowley watched as she led him down to the cellar.

"There you are! I've been searching everywhere for you. You didn't let anyone know where you were staying." Crowley turned in shock to see Hastur slip into the seat that Aziraphale had just left.

"Oh, well, busy. Working. Haven't had a spare minute to even find a place. I'll have to do that when I leave here."

"Working? All last night?" The tone was, as usual with Hastur, suspicious.

"Orgy. Went well into dawn and then there was this big meeting at the palace I couldn't miss."

Satisfied, Hastur shrugged. "We need to get you something portable so I can reach you when I need you. Maybe a scroll to carry around that I could write messages on?"

Crowley shook his head. "Too big. Obvious. And sometimes I need my hands free."

"There's those old cuniform tablets."

Shaking his head again, Crowley ran his hands down the front of his robe. "No pockets. Ruin the lines."

Disgusted, Hastur reached into the air and plucked out a small disk on a chain. "Here. This won't wreck your image. Wear it and I'll be able to get you whenever we need to communicate."

Reluctantly, Crowley took the necklace and put it on. The pendant looked like a typical Roman coin - Emperor in profile - until you looked closely and saw Hastur sneering out at you. "Charming."

"Now, what do you know about this Claudius? And, by the way, I'm still hearing complaints about you allowing Caligula to be assassinated."

"What humans do to one another casts anything we try to get them to do in the shade. Why would I give up one of our best prospects?" That brought a thought to Crowley. "How IS Caligula doing down there."

"Just fine. Screaming like a banchee dancing on hot coals. We'll give him a couple millenia then maybe bring him up and pump him for ideas. He used to be a cesspool of clever approaches to murder and mayhem."

"Sounds good. As far as my current assignment, I was thinking that I should settle down here in Rome for awhile. The population is large enough that I can spread foment more efficiently using this as a base. Not waste all that time traveling."

"We've got a better idea. Claudius took four legions to Britannia last year. Where there's war, there's the potential for mischief. So we want you following the army. Finish up whatever you're doing here and plan to settle in Britain for the immediate future."

"They paint themselves blue!" Crowley objected.

Indicating Crowley's robe, Hastur smirked. "No problem. Black goes with everything." The smirk broadened. "But I wouldn't expect much in the way of wine. I hear beer is their drink of choice."

"Charming," Crowley repeated.

"Crowley! Don't look over your shoulder, but that's Aziraphale across the bar. Did you know he was in Rome?"

The temptation to turn around successfully resisted, Crowley sprawled deeper into his chair and just stopped himself from lifting his missing cup. "He's been hanging around the palace, trying to spread peace and good will."

"And doing a better job than you are, if Claudius' successes are anything to go by." When Crowley would have objected, Hastur shook his head. "He's been a pain in our backside ever since they gave him this assignment."

"Truer words," Crowley agreed fervently, shifting in his chair and remembering their afternoon together.

Whatever surprise Crowley's passionate response caused Hastur was immediately replaced with a smile of approval. "See if you can come up with a plan that would get him replaced. After all the trouble he's caused us, I wouldn't mind if you could arrange to get them to ship him down to us. There's a few tricks he's played on us that I'd really enjoy discussing with him over a roaring fire."

"Don't you worry we'd get someone worse?"

"Let me worry about that."

But that Crowley was not about to do. "Whenever it's happened that he and I have bumped into each other over the years, I've been surprised at how chatty he was. I decided that besides being a little more naïve than the ones up there tend to be, he's also a little lonely. Seems likely that his management isn't as friendly - as interested in his career as, say, you are in mine."

Hastur's eyes drifted back to Aziraphale, who had found a game board and was concentrating on placing his stone.

"So every now and then, he's dropped a piece of information that I've found particularly useful. I mean, of course, sometimes what he says is absolute codswallop. Like that heaven is developing a weapon against the next Great Battle. But useful stuff, like that business about there being a shepherd's path around Leonidas' Greek army at Thermopylae. Just a hint in the right ear, and we had total chaos. If Aziraphale hadn't let that slip, Athens might never have fallen. I was rather proud of that maneuver. You gave me a commendation, if you remember."

But battles between Persians and Greeks were not what was making Hastur sit upright in his chair. "Weapon? What kind of weapon?"

"Oh," Crowley slouched deeper into his own. "Aziraphale was just talking. I asked him, of course, but he was repeating gossip and didn't really know anything. We decided it was probably nothing more than talk."

"You idiot! It might have been, but it could have been something we need to know about."

"Well, maybe whoever you get to take Aziraphale's place when we take him out will know more about it."

"And someone down there thought you had brains," Hastur said, his voice thick with disgust. "If he's got a loose mouth, then taking him out is the last thing we'd want to do. In fact, I think I have a much better idea. What we need to do is compromise him. Get him in a situation where if Gabriel finds out, they'd destroy him."

Not letting his eyes leave Aziraphale for a moment, Hastur asked, "See those two cups in front of him. He's drinking more than he used to. You can use that. Can you get near him?"

"How near?" Glancing over his shoulder, Crowley gave the angel a wink but Azeraphale pretended not to notice.

"Get up his arse if you have to, but I want to know everything about Azeraphale. And I want some suggestions on ways to compromise him."

Suddenly grateful that he didn't have anything to spill, Crowley began coughing. A whack on the shoulders from Hastur was Hastur's version of a good-natured farewell. Crowley kept coughing.

As he passed by Azeraphale's table, Hastur paused for a moment, his voice low enough not to be heard beyond the angel. "Taking out Caligula was a smart move. We owe you one." Without waiting for a response, he was gone.

As Aziraphale rose and started toward Crowley, Crowley shook his head and got up, walking out of the bar and leaving Aziraphale to follow. They walked several blocks before Crowley slowed enough to let Aziraphale catch up but, even then, he wouldn't allow the angel to say anything. Finally, Crowley stopped, removed Hastur's necklace and miracled it into a transparent, glowing ball that floated between them, Aziraphale's eyes opening wide in the dim light and turning questioningly to Crowley.

"They want you compromised and they want me to figure out how to do it. "

"Compromised?"

"As in blackmailable. And, by the way, Hastur is seriously upset that you took out Caligula."

"I didn't!"

"I know. I did."

Grabbing Crowley by the shoulder, Azeraphale shoved him to start him walking again, grabbing the ball that was now bobbing along beside them and sticking it into a pocket Crowley hadn't noticed he had. The angel pitched his voice low. "What do you mean you took out Caligula? He was one of yours."

"There are limits, even for our side. Well, I should say that I have limits. There was this little girl I couldn't save. Her eyes met mine just before she died and there was absolutely nothing I could do. Figured there would still be enough evil in the world with him gone, so I whispered in a few ears. The advantage of being a demon, Angel, is that I don't have a smidgen of guilt about it."

"Killing is wrong." He glanced at Crowley and then away. "But I prefer to think that you're a tool that's been used in Her Ineffable Plan, so I really wouldn't let yourself feel guilty even if you do find the smallest smidgen somewhere in your conscience.

"And what do you mean about Hastur wanting to blackmail me? He can't know anything about us. We just became lovers. Besides, your side and mine have been very careful about following the rules. Neither of them are ready for another Great War. Not yet, anyway."

"It's complicated. Seems Hastur had decided that you needed to go. Wanted me to set you up so that Gabriel would take you out and maybe we'd get someone not so good at spreading sweetness and light."

"That's actually very complementary. Shame they couldn't pass that on to Gabriel."

Ignoring that, Crowley continued, "But I told them that you had let slip something about heaven's new weapon."

"Our new what?"

"Had to come up with something, didn't I?" Not looking particularly pleased with Crowley's inspiration, Aziraphale finally nodded. "So my job is to get you to do something that would so upset your side, that they'd take you out themselves if they found out. Then we blackmail you into finding out about this new weapon."

"That we don't have." Sarcasm dripped off the angel's tongue.

"It's better than having to keep them from destroying you, which was the alternative."

Reluctantly, Aziraphale nodded.

"And, in the meantime, my job is to get close to you - get up your arse were Hastur's very words."

If the light had been brighter, Crowley might have been able to see Aziraphale's eyebrows rise to his forehead. "Gabriel's not going to like our spending time together."

"Then you need to find a way to make him like it." Looking around, Crowley noticed that fewer lights were visible through the windows. "I need to find a place tonight and you need to go home and get ready for your meet with Gabriel tomorrow. We'll run across each other at the palace by accident and see what sort of mischief we can make." He put his hand into Aziraphale's pocket, just letting his fingers wander over the cloth until the angel's eyes began to close before plucking the ball out. Regretfully they both sighed and turned away in opposite directions.

************************************************

From the look on Gabriel's face, he really wanted to say, "You're late!" Unfortunately, Aziraphale had actually arrived early at the amphithreatre so instead, Gabriel turned to a different complaint. "How could you be so careless as to get sick? And why didn't you heal yourself as soon as you felt poorly?"

"You've been telling me I'm doing too many miracles," Aziraphale reminded him and wondering if it might be a good idea to cough, but decided against it.

"Learn to distinguish between what's important and what's not," Gabriel corrected, an aphorism Aziraphale had heard many times before and schooled his expression to respectful attention. "Now, have you completed your report?" He held out his hand, not really doubting that the angel would have it finished.

"I would have, but something came up and I needed your advice."

Torn between annoyance at the missing report and flattery at having his opinion requested, Gabriel put down his hand. "What? I'm due to meet Michael soon, but I can spare time when it's needed."

"Crowley is trying to get me into bed."

Since that wasn't in the catalog of possible problems Gabriel had seen coming, his mouth opened and closed as he attempted, in vain, to formulate any rational response. Aziraphale continued with the story he'd worked out through a long night.

"I felt better after you left and went out for dinner last night. Crowley was there, and so was Hastur." Leaning forward, Gabriel nodded for Aziraphale to continue. "Hastur congratulated me on Caligula's assassination and then Crowley came over and was unusually friendly." As an aside, he added, "I might have mentioned that Crowley tends to over-indulge with alcohol?" On Gabriel shaking his head, Aziraphale continued, "He kept offering me wine until I had to be quite firm with him that I do not drink to excess." Virtue glowed from the angel's open face, and Gabriel impatiently urged him to continue. "I'm not sure he realized that he was saying something that he shouldn't but, after Hastur left, Crowley told me that Hastur thinks we have a new weapon that will completely change the balance of power when the Great War resumes. I told him that we didn't." Aziraphale paused, "We don't, do we?"

"If we did, be assured you'd be the last to know."

"Of course. But the reason he asked was that he had let slip that the other side," Aziraphale looked around quickly then pointed downward, "is working on something of their own, and he wanted to find out from me how they compared."

"Very well done, Aziraphale. You've done just as you ought in bringing this to me." Turning his back, Gabriel stared off to the floor of the amphithreatre, thinking through the problem.

The sky above them was so clear and blue that the angel thought that if you stared hard enough, you'd be able to see all the way to heaven. While he was pursuing this fantasy, Gabriel turned back, his face showing that he'd reached a decision.

"Let him try to get you into bed."

"What!" The word was garbled with a slight shriek of disbelief. That far, Aziraphale had really not expected Gabriel to go. A few drinking sessions were all he'd hoped for.

Sternly, Gabriel stared down at the slighter angel. "Soldiers must be prepared to sacrifice for the greater good. You have an opportunity given to few to stand in the front ranks and make a difference." Carefully brushing off a speck of dust that had floated down onto his robe, he added, "Of course, you won't have sexual relations with him. Your body is a temple. But you can lead him on to think that you might. Ply him with alcohol and find out everything you can about what they're up to down there."

Reaching into the air, Gabriel miracled a small boutonniere and touched it to Aziraphale's robe, where it stuck. "To make sure you can reach me at any time, wear this communicator. It should be subtle enough not to be noticed by the humans."

Attempting to keep a straight face, Aziraphale glanced down at the four inch wide, bright purple flower and nodded. "Is there anything else you want me to find out from him?"

"Very good, Aziraphale. You've found us someone who, for the first time, can let us know what's going on down there. Let me assure you that this is going to show up prominently on your next review. Oh, and as for Caligula, murder is wrong, but we'll let it go this time. You meant well."

************************************************

Halfway to Caesar's palace, Aziraphale's boutonniere burst into flame. While all around him people began screaming and running for water, Aziraphale tried to nonchalantly ignore them and whisper into the flower, "Not a good time, Gabriel."

"I did remember one thing you that should try to discover. Find out if Crowley knows anything about a Ptalthur. Used to work in Babylon. That time you were working with Nebuchadnezzar, I met him when I visited you. He was a weapons maker and, the thing is, I don't know if he's with them or with us."

As multiple people threw buckets of water at his chest, Aziraphale managed to blurt out, "Ptalthur. Got it," to the drenched corsage, the fire now reduced to a sizzle through which Gabriel could still be heard, though now in a whisper.

"It's a little embarrassing, but I was spending so much time down on earth, that I tried training up someone to help keep the records at the Golden Gates. Ircius had been interested in records keeping and he turned out to be a complete idiot. We've never fully figured out just who got in and who was sent down below during the period he worked with the gatekeeper. Thing is, if the other side has Ptalthur, Ptalthur could have been the one that worked on that weapons development. See if Crowley can find out."

At that point, the last sizzles disappeared, which was lucky for Aziraphale because he was starting to get strange looks from the crowd and hear whispers. Fervently thanking everyone, he hurried away leaving the crowd to gather together and look after him.

***********************************************

The public rooms of the palace were crowded, so that it took Aziraphale a few minutes to locate Crowley, whose dark robes seemed more like shadows against a nearby fresco. He had obviously seen Aziraphale first, but was caught by the Senator to whom he was speaking and waited for the angel to make his way to his side.

One glance from his friend told Aziraphale that he hadn't been entirely successful in returning his robes to some semblance of what they'd looked like before their inadvertant drenching. The shake of Aziraphale's head said, "Don't ask!" Crowley's return shrug guaranteed that he would when the Senator left.

"But what do we know of that area?"

"As long as Rome grows and needs room to spread into, that route will grow with it. The return will be at least thirty percent profit. I'm intending to turn at least three of my investments into cash to invest. Two years to build and then the taxes from the town that will grow up around it will pay for construction and begin to show unimaginable gains." A mischievous glance at Aziraphale and Crowley turned back to his new acquaintance. "Talk to Marcus Antonius. See what you think. But don't take too long. The shares in the project will go fast, if I had to guess."

With an hand on Aziraphale's arm, Crowley moved them away to an emptier part of the room, next to a fresco that depicted the finding of Romulus and Remus.

"What was that all about?" Aziraphale asked, looking after the man who had hurried over to another across the room, the two now talking with some excitement.

"Three points solid for five minutes work." Satisfaction filled Crowley's voice. Staring at the wrinkled robe around the flower, he added, "Nice touch. Elegant." Then he remembered where Aziraphale had been. "How did your meeting go?"

"Better than I expected. We should discuss it at home. Since we both have an afternoon's work ahead of us, might you like to make one of our small wagers? Five hours tempting and peacemaking? Normal points. No proofs required, of course. Your word is good enough."

"Winner drinks the good wine? Loser gets the brown? "

"Done."

Quickly the two scanned the crowd for the best prospects for quick points. This game had won them both some very good reviews on their regular reports back to their home offices.

"That one!" And Crowley was off in pursuit of a short, rather slovenly attired gentleman - most likely a merchant by the decorations on his robe - who was in pursuit of a Roman matron who didn't seem particularly enthralled by the chase.

Aziraphale noticed a worried young man who was hanging back from a group arguing over something. Ease his concerns and that was three points in his pocket. A rather sad looking woman, waiting her turn to talk to an officious looking bureaucrat, he put on his mental waiting list. Organization. That's why he usually won this particular game, he thought with a smile that melted into real concern as he approached the young man. Staying emotionally separated from his work was one of the angel's greatest challenges.

***********************************************

"Now that the priorities are taken care of, tell me how it went with Gabriel."

The two angels, starkers and grinning like fiends, sprawled casually in the living room of Aziraphale's flat, the levels in their separate cups of wine showing that each had made significant inroads on the liquor already. Aziraphale sipped appreciatively at his, and ignored the fact that Crowley's brown liquid had mysteriously turned the same rich burgundy color as his own. The past hour had put Crowley to significant exertion on Aziraphale's behalf and it would have been petty to have made Crowley keep to the letter of their bet.

"Ptalthur. The name mean anything to you?"

"Of course. Built the moat around Babylon. Great defensive move. And I'm vaguely thinking he might have been the one that started using iron for the swords. Got the idea from the Assyrians. Haven't thought about him in centuries. Why?"

"Gabriel wants to know if he's in hell."

"Well, tell him to check his own records. If he's not there, then he's one of ours." Sipping again, Crowley stared at the ceiling. "Ptalthur. Ptalthur. Had a thing for one of the gardeners who worked on the third level of the Hanging Gardens. Wife never knew." He shrugged. "Could be. Why?"

"Gabriel thinks he could be hell's weapon maker."

"Tell him about the gardener. Reward for letting us spend time together. The nice thing about temptations is that all you have to do is drop a hint, and your temptee will do all the work." Putting down his cup on the floor, Crowley scooted over to Aziraphale and leaned over his groin. "Speaking of tempting, let's do a tasting. See if the wine makes you taste any differently."

They were well on their way to discovering the answer to that question when Aziraphale's robe, lying nearby on the floor, burst into flame. Yelping as he freed himself, the angel made a dive for the robe and pounded out the blaze as Gabriel's impatient voice came in and out. "Discovered anything yet?"

"As a matter of fact, I have." His next words were garbled as Crowley took advantage of Aziraphale's posture on all fours to insert part of Crowley's anatomy into part of the angel's. "Sorry, my robe was burning," Aziraphale gasped out. "Crowley doesn't know for sure, but he did say that Ptalthur was committing adultery, so it's very possible."

"Good work! Keep close to him. This intelligence could prove to be invaluable." The flower lost its sparks and returned to its normal healthy, purple appearance.

"Keeping close. Very close. Nice and deep and close." Without consciously trying, the deep voice was keeping rhythm with the slapping sounds against Aziraphale's bum.

"Crowley!" It was hard to keep his mind on what he was going to say with all that was going on behind him. This activity might well be new to the angel, but the need was as old as Eden, itself. "Crowley, you need to be more careful. We're going to get caught if you..." For a few minutes, he just lost himself, then remembered again what he'd been trying to say. "We'll get caught and then where will we be? Just like that. Deeper."

"Caught doing what?" The voice coming out of the sphere lying on the floor was unmistakably Hastur's. Then there was triumph in it. "You got him, didn't you, Crowley? You actually got Aziraphale into bed!"

"Well, not exactly bed. What do you want, Hastur? I already sent you my report." Heavy breathing made explicitly clear what Hastur was interrupting.

"You're ours, Aziraphale! Next time you're in trouble, Crowley, just remind me of this moment. One free future pass."

"Thanks, Hastur, but could we put off the congratulations for maybe ten minutes? I'm having a bit of trouble concentrating just now."

"Business first, Crowley. Pleasure after. I don't know how you did it." The voice was still marveling over this unexpected coup.

"I'm not going to be able to if you don't let me finish what I started."

Through all of this, Aziraphale crouched, bum upward and face trying to disappear into one of the pillows, locked in place by two hands that gripped his hips with demonic strength. There was silence for a few minutes, then Crowley cried out and collapsed onto Aziraphale, who, in turn, collapsed into the pillows.

"Done, Crowley?" Hastur's voice, while impatient, was still too pleased to be censoring.

"For now."

"If you expect to get out of this with a whole skin, Aziraphale, you need to listen carefully and do what you're told. You are now our spy in heaven. When we tell you what we need to know, you go and find out. Any hesitation on your part and you're angel dust. Understand?" When Aziraphale didn't immediately reply, Hastur said with more nasty menace in his voice, "Understand?"

"Yes." The panic in the angel's voice was not entirely feigned, shaded by most definite embarrassment.

"Good. What do you know about a weapons system being developed by your friends? What is it and how far along?"

"Only rumors." Lying beside him now, Crowley squeezed his bum as a reminder. "And a name. I know a name, Hastur."

"What name?"

"Ptalthur. That's all I know."

"Well, your main job from now on is to find out more. I want to know everything there is to know about this Ptalthur. Cross me, Aziraphale, and I go straight to Gabriel. And what he's going to put up your bum is not going to be anywhere near as nice as what Crowley is putting to you." There was a pause. "Crowley?"

"Yes?"

"I want regular reports from you. You can forget your other assignments. This is where you put your effort for now."

"Just what I was planning to do. The night is young and I'm only getting started."

"I mean question him, you idiot! Shag him as much as you want, but don't forget that it's information we're after, not you getting yourself off. Call if you get anything else out of him."

"Right now I'm rather focused on what I can get in him," Crowley confessed, allowing himself a good, loud slap on the smooth, white cheek beside him. At Aziraphale's yell, Hastur and Crowley both laughed.

"Tomorrow." The ball went quiet.

As Aziraphale started to open his mouth, Crowley put a hand over it and shook his head, nodding to indicate that the ball was probably still active. Aziraphale nodded back.

"You heard my boss. Now that he knows about us, you don't have a choice. Whatever he wants to know, you've got to find out for him. I wouldn't have had this happen for the world, Angel. You know how I feel about you, but now that it has, you have to do what he says."

"How can I betray heaven, Crowley? I can't!" Amateur theatrics was obviously a love of the angel's.

Crowley motioned for him to take it down a notch. "You can, angel. If you're not willing to save yourself, then think of me. I love you and it would destroy me if anything happened to you. For my sake, if not for your own, you have to do what Hastur says."

"Oh, Crowley!" With a grin, Aziraphale threw himself on Crowley and began noisily kissing him. After a few minutes, they weren't performing for the ball anymore. Out of breath, Aziraphale got to his feet and held out a hand to Crowley. "I don't want to think about anything right now. Let's go to bed." But, on the way, he carefully dropped Crowley's robe over the ball. And they closed the bedroom door.

************************************************

"Maltus, another cup of the vino you keep under the counter." The joke made most of the patrons laugh, since the counter was a table that was clearly free of anything resembling an amphora, but it produced the right response from the morning shift bartender, who had become friends with Aziraphale over the last few days they'd been patronizing the place. When everyone looked back to what they'd been doing, Maltus reached around a large jug and brought out a smaller one which he poured into two cups, handing them to Aziraphale with a knowing wink and receiving in exchange a single gold coin that would keep his family in luxuries for the next month.

With satisfaction, Aziraphale regained his seat at the small table and placed the full cups carefully down. "Pour that plonk on the floor. This will be much better."

"No reason to waste perfectly good alcohol," Crowley objected, drinking down the brown mud in the cup in front of him and then reaching for Aziraphale's refill. He'd chugged down half when he suddenly choked, leading Aziraphale to rise from his chair and start whacking him on the back.

"I should have looked here first." Gabriel stood beside their table, immaculate in bright, white robes that seemed to stay miraculously above the stagnant, smelly puddles on the floor. With a grimace of disgust, he settled down into the extra chair, the floor beneath the table becoming, suddenly, spotlessly clean.

Letting Crowley cough his lungs clear by himself, Aziraphale settled back down into his own chair, attempting to appear at ease with the appearance of his boss.

At a glance from Aziraphale, Crowley's demeanor slightly changed, his speech becoming a trace more slurred. "Gabriel! Never expected to see you in a place like this. Know my friend Azzy? Of course, you do. Forget that. His boss, aren't you? Azzy's my friend, so you can be as well. Have some of this. Puts hair on your chest."

The outstretched cup of wine was carefully ignored, but there was a growing look of subtle pleasure as Gabriel observed the seemingly tight demon. A quick meeting of Gabriel's eyes with Aziraphale's and a slight nod gave Gabriel's approval to this approach to spying out the opposition.

Indicating the wine, Gabriel asked, "Any good? I wouldn't have thought a place like this had anything up to your standards."

"You learn to make do when you're on the road. And one rot-gut is pretty much like another."

With a wide smile, Gabriel snapped his fingers and the liquid in Crowley's cup rose to the top and changed to a rich, purple hue. Indicating the demon should try it, Gabriel leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself.

Skeptically, Crowley downed half the cup in one long drink, handing the cup to Aziraphale to finish. "I'm convinced. If I weren't going to burn for saying it, you have a heavenly touch when it comes to wine." He leaned forward confidentially. "I don't suppose you'd like to teach that trick to Azzy, would you? Might loosen him up a bit." Turning to Azeraphale, he complained, "You never told me your boss was so much fun. Mine wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the arse."

Crowley's eyes slitted as he leaned in closer to Gabriel. "I bet you could be fun. Have you ever thought of learning a little more from humans? I would love to get you somewhere private and demonstrate some of their tricks. I'd even take you to an orgy if you liked. Not as much fun as we could get up to together, but could be inspiring." As Gabriel struggled to not show his horror, Crowley leaned in to Aziraphale, exhaling alcohol into the angel's face. "Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere. That's my specialty, you know, tempting the innocent."

Before Aziraphale fell off his chair trying to pull back, Gabriel interrupted to regain Crowley's attention. "Let's take this damned conversation back to hell. You were saying about your bosses..."

Leaning back to Gabriel, he asked, "Why aren't my bosses any fun? How come Azzy's got all the luck and I get bollixed up crud?"

"Burdens shared, are burdens lightened. Why don't you tell Azeriphale about your problems down there? I've always found him a wonderful sounding board when there's something I'm trying to think through. He might even have some suggestions for you that would help you get on with them better." Turning to Azeriphale he made a slight gesture. "The trick is simple. Harder if you don't have something to start with, but even a little in the bottom of a cup is enough to serve as a pattern. Let me know if the technique confuses you."

While Aziraphale struggled to look properly grateful, Gabriel rose and straightened his robe, running a hand over a particularly elegant piece of embroidery. "Work to do. But don't let me hurry you two along." An obvious finger snap and both cups filled to the brim with another vintage of slightly lighter color. "The day is still young and there's time enough for all you both have left to do." To Aziraphale he added significantly, "I'll see you later." The boutonniere that the angel had finally managed to remove from his robe without too much damage reappeared, leaving Aziraphale to give a sickly smile of thanks as Gabriel turned and left the table.

When he was finally out the door, both Crowley and Aziraphale grabbed their cups and emptied them, leaning back in laughing disbelief.

"He's right you know," Crowley finally got out. "The day is just starting and I really would like to take you somewhere you haven't been before. Or me, for that matter. How about a short trip back to your place, a longer trip to somewhere you'll never forget, and then we'll both get to work?"

"Weell..." Aziraphale tried to look reluctant, but he was already getting to his feet while Crowley threw another coin to the barmaid. "Maybe just a short trip. Do you remember that page in the book..." But their voices were lost as they hurried out.

************************************************

The palace dining area was just beginning to fill as Crowley and Aziraphale entered and paused in the doorway to get their bearings. All the couches had been placed near tables, arranged to allow servers room to replace platters and, later, various partners to replace the food with their naked bodies.

"It's nowhere near as bad as you warned me, Crowley." Bumped from behind by new guests, the two moved off to the side.

"That's because we're early. Just wait a few hours, Angel, and this place will turn into a live version of the book you're so fond of acting out."

"They've set up a marvelous looking display of food across the room. Join me?"

Crowley shook his head. "Maybe later. Work now. Play later."

As Aziraphale made a straight line for the banquet, Crowley scanned the room for some easy points. This type of scene was actually simple to use for reports. He didn't have to do a thing - just report later on the astounding levels of depravity, and somewhat modestly take credit for much of it. But it never hurt to see if there weren't some easy points to make to bring to Hastur's attention when the demon arrived.

Hastur. Normally, he didn't mind annoying him, but Crowley realized that he was walking a narrow line here with Angel part of the mix. Just as he was about to join a group of men he recognized who were standing, laughing in a group by the wall, his eye was caught by the frozen posture of a young woman standing alone, her back against a column, fingers clutched into her gold-trimmed robe. As he watched, she took a deep breath, threw out her chest and pinned an obviously false smile on her lips.

Without knowing why he did it, Crowley sauntered over to block her path. She started, then widened her smile into something she probably considered seductive. "First time here?" Crowley asked.

A blink of blue eyes said that wasn't the question she was expecting. "Of course not. We must have missed each other before. Are you..." her voice broke slightly, "looking for anyone in particular, or might I do." The voice firmed, though the pitch went up. "I'm not expensive."

Slipping an arm around the girl, who now seemed younger than Crowley had first thought, he walked her over to the door, feeling the tension in the body as she assumed they were going to find one of the isolated grottos in the garden. At the door, he paused and looked at her closely. "Family hungry? Procurer found you when you arrived from the country?" Her eyes widened on the second. "You aren't the first. Won't be the last. Want to go home?" It was a moment before the girl could stiffly nod.

From the air, Crowley subtly pulled a large handful of gold coins which he transferred to her, indicating she should put them in her pocket, which she did, eyes growing wider every moment. "There is a new viaduct stock being sold in one of the first rooms when you enter the public area of Caesar's palace. Put this somewhere safe until tomorrow, then invest all of it in that stock. In two days - repeat that - two days..."

"Two days."

"Sell all the stock and go home as fast as you can. A kind old woman who takes care of stray street cats gave you what you'll have as a reward for saving one of her cats. Can you remember that?"

When the girl nodded, Crowley pushed her toward the door and watched until she disappeared, still looking back over her shoulder at her unknown benefactor. When he turned around, Crowley found himself nose to nose with Hastur.

"Just what was that all about? Thinking of changing sides?"

"Certainly not. I've been encouraging a wonderful viaduct stock con operator who's getting a little discouraged because the money isn't coming in fast enough. He pays off early investors with the money from later investors. Works out well for the first ones, disastrous for everyone else. Really very clever. Thought I'd send him a few customers and that might get him selling again with more enthusiasm. Prime the pump, so to speak."

"Crowley, you have to try this."

From behind Hastur, Aziraphale hurried up, small bits of food in one hand and a cup of wine in the other. Pleased to have the interrogation short-circuited, Crowley took one of the bits and ate it before recognizing the flavor - hummingbird. Retch. He grabbed the cup and washed away the taste.

"Aziraphale. Thought you'd come. I expect you to be just as quick following future orders."

Awkwardly, the angel grabbed back the cup from Crowley. "Have to get back before the best dishes are gone. Wonderful chef." Before anyone could object, the angel had slipped into a nearby crowd and disappeared back in the direction of the banquet table, white hair bobbing above white robes and bald heads.

Tipping his head in Aziraphale's direction, Hastur observed, "No wonder you succeed as much as you do. No real opposition. But, back to business. Has he gotten anything out of them?"

"Ptalthur's one of theirs, for sure. Wife forgave him. From what Aziraphale heard when he went up to give his last report, they're brainstorming some new approaches to weaponry given that Ptalthur hadn't previously thought about what could be done when the physical constraints were loosened."

"Neither had we. Fine. So we're talking miracle-based weapons. We can match that. They might have one weapons expert, but we have more and better war-makers down below. Just a matter of pulling them out of the hell fires and letting them know they'll be right back to burning if they don't come up with something good."

Realizing that Crowley's attention was gone, Hastur put out a hand to shake his arm. "What?" The word echoed in pure silence as the room froze. Next to the food table, a circle of people were leaning forward and, in the middle, Aziraphale could be seen crawling backwards out from under a very large gentleman, his robe riding up to his waist and showing an inordinate amount of pure, white cheek. As he rose to his feet and dusted himself off, he glanced toward Crowley and gave a slight wave, then moved away from the immediate area. Almost at once, the tableau unfroze, the man on the floor scrambling to his feet and looking around in confusion.

"Have to save his butt very often?"

Crowley shrugged. "A replacement could always be worse."

"So you're not really involved. I assume, then, that you wouldn't mind if I took a turn at him. When you're done, of course."

A hand gripped Hastur's robe and shoved him hard up against the nearby column. "You don't go near him." The voice was as cold and hard as the hand.

Hastur looked down at the hand and smiled. "You do know that I'm more powerful than you are, and that I could destroy you anytime I wanted?"

"Try it." The flat statement was menacing.

A flick of the wrist and a gap existed between the two, their eyes locked together. "Does he know you'd be willing to die for him?"

Crowley's expression never changed.

"Interesting." Without another glance, Hastur walked away.

It was a moment before Crowley felt his anger fade. Looking around, he noticed that the orgy was just getting started. And from the look he could see on Angel's face, Angel had noticed, too. Striding quickly across the room, Crowley put the same hand that had gripped Hastur so firmly onto Aziraphale's arm, now gentle with concern. "I'm finished. Let's get out of here."

Without another word, they left.

************************************************

Crowley and Aziraphale sat on the steps of the Curia Julia, watching the progression of Senators and their associated staffs and supplicants trudging up and down, either smiling in satisfaction or dark with frustration. At the bottom of the stairs was the boutonniere and globe, the first flaring up in periodic flame; the second almost shaking as it attempted to get some attention.

And attention both did get. Attracted by the fire, a few brave souls had first come over to stare, and then had returned with some small food offerings to propitiate whatever local supernatural figure had chosen the Roman Senate to make itself known.

And that, in turn, had brought over a few of the more clever Senators to thank the gods for blessing their terms of office. When the signs from the god had just repeated their flaring up and rolling around, even the Senators had grown bored and wandered back to whatever it was they'd planned to do that day.

"If we don't answer them eventually, you know they're going to come to find us." Crowley stared up at the column against which he leaned, then up to the porch roof high above. "Just a matter of time."

"I'm running out of stories for Gabriel."

"A rumor that the weapon destroys the innocent, while leaving heaven available for resettlement? Of course, we'd still have to get rid of Michael."

"Told him that day before yesterday."

"That whatever is holding heaven up there is being compromised so it will come crashing down?"

"Day before that. Come on, Crowley, surely you can remember one more piece of hellish gossip to keep heaven at bay for one more day. Think! A threat. Even an outlandish one."

"Weeeeelll, that is a bank up here, and that reminds me of this time when Mammon - he's in charge of greed - convinced a couple of the younger demons to visit some of the temples at night and bring back the offerings that weren't burnt to a crisp. Then Belphegor found out and Mammon ended up having to give all his stash away as a bribe to keep Belphegor from telling Hastur about it. Belphegor's always too lazy to go out and get any of his own. He handles sloth. Hastur did find out, of course. Sent them both down into the hell fires for a week. Came back with the devil of a sunburn." He glanced over at Aziraphale. "That help?"

"Not a threat." The angel leaned back and looked at the porch roof that Crowley was finding of such interest. "They're going to find out that we've been putting them on. And they're not going to like it. If we're going to get past this, we need to come up with a convincing story. Something to say why we thought there might be a weapons program going on."

The silence stretched between them. "I've been counting on my well known ability to rise to the occasion in the moment." Crowley glanced over. "But you don't sound all that worried."

A bird flew to the roof and made its way into some nest that couldn't be seen from where they sat on the ground. "I think I'm feeling guilty. We really shouldn't have given in to temptation, Crowley, wonderful as it was."

That brought Crowley's attention back. "You're regretting it?"

"Mixed feelings. You?"

"None!" There was a strength to the statement that left no doubt of its truth. "So we need to plan a strategy for you for when we're found out."

Glancing down at the plaza at the foot of the stairs, Aziraphale sat up just a little straighter. "I think it may be a little late for that, Crowley."

From two separate directions, Hastur and Gabriel were advancing quickly on the location of the communicators. Only when they had almost reached the bottom of the stairs did they realize that the other was there. There was a silent pantomine as they greeted one another with formal politeness and false comradarie. That lasted until they realized that the communicators they had been advancing on were together and looked up to see Aziraphale and Crowley sitting at the top of the stairs.

Stopping himself from the urge to wave, Crowley looked over at Aziraphale. "If we're going to get out of this with whole skins, this is the time to come up with a strategy. Come on, Angel, you can think of something."

Down below, the conversation could be seen to have become more heated. Hastur was beginning to flail about while Gabriel was clearly on his most arrogant dignity.

"I think I do know what to do." Turning fully to Crowley, he looked at him as if he'd never seen him before and needed to memorize every feature. "I love you. Don't ever doubt that. This was the best week of my life and I'm not going to regret any of it." And in full view of the two below, he leaned over and kissed Crowley full on the lips, then got up and hurried down the stairs.

"Angel!" When Crowley's cry didn't stop him, Crowley raced after, delayed momentarily by someone crossing his path, and into whom he bumped. By the time he'd freed himself from the strong hands that tried to restrain him, Azeraphale was already down and had turned Gabriel away and was hurrying with him across the plaza and down the street.

Crowley would have followed, but Hastur stepped in front of him. A rise of anger almost overcame judgment but, as he paused, Crowley knew that it was too late. Azeraphale would just have to deal with Gabriel. His own battle was right here. Pulling together the instincts that had allowed him his share of demonic triumphs, Crowley smiled at Hastur and gave him his full attention.

"You were looking for me?"

"Obviously." Hastur gave the globe at his feet a kick that sent it skyward as three different men ducked and glared at them before hurrying on. They ignored the sound of breaking glass as people in the vicinity scattered. "You've been playing both sides. Gabriel tells me that he's getting as much information from you about our affairs as it seems we're getting from your white-haired friend." Staring hard at Crowley, he asked, "You are shagging him, aren't you?"

The color came and went in Crowley's face and Hastur waved a hand to stop him from trying to answer. "Of course, you are. He get you or you get him?" Again, Crowley could only open and close his mouth. "You got him. Fine. And how much of what you told me is true?"

"All of it!" Crowley's indignity wasn't faked, but he quickly subsided. "Heaven wasn't looking into weapons until I gave them the idea, but they are now."

Turning, Hastur began to move them down the street. "You'll probably serve a term in the hell fires..."

"One free pass," Crowley reminded him, wondering if that was going to work in this case, but Hastur, surprised, actually seemed pleased at the reminder.

"I did say that, didn't I? Good to know you can still think on your feet under pressure. Okay, so no hell fires. I think where you'll be going next, you'll believe you should have saved your pardon for some bigger trouble I have no doubt you'll get into." Shaking his head, Hastur grinned. "Tupped an angel! Probably a first. For that, alone, I should get you a commendation. Much as I dislike you, Crowley, you are one of the best at temptations. If I'd have had to send you down below for this, finding a replacement would have been tough. Oh, I wish I could have seen you get him. Gabriel will be taking him to pieces. Lovely. Just lovely."

The sick feeling that had invaded Crowley's stomach for the last ten minutes began to send the last wine he'd drunk that morning up his throat and he had to swallow hard to keep it down. All he could do was trust that Angel knew what he was doing. Noticing that Hastur had been talking, he asked, "Sorry. What?"

"You're leaving now for Britain. I just put the location in your mind."

"I can't yet!"

"You're not seeing that friend of yours before you go. In fact, if I know Gabriel, I doubt you're seeing him again."

"I expected that. But I left some important things at Aziraphale's place and I have to get them. Take just a minute."

With a grin, Hastur pulled a minute timer out of the air and the tiny grains of sand began to fall. As soon as Crowley realized what was happening, he was gone.

************************************************

Around Crowley, Aziraphale's living room appeared. So little time. Hurrying, as he saw the sands falling in his mind, Crowley did what he needed to do, took one last look around and was gone.

************************************************

"Five seconds to spare," Hastur said with a trace of disappointment in his voice. "I was just going through your possible punishments for being late." Sighing, he shrugged and gave Crowley his full attention. "I'll be in touch to check on you in a week or so." Another communicator disk was plucked from the air and shoved at Crowley. "And I expect one of your best reports, Crowley. An army is going to naturally leave mayhem in its wake. I want to know, when we talk, that this army has cut a swath through the territories that will be sung about in their burned out hovels for centuries to come. Now get out of here. And no detours to see your _friend_."

"You have my word, for what that's worth. But I do have a couple errands to run first. An army, I've heard, travels on its stomach or some such nonsense. I need to make one quick stop at the palace to arrange for them to send one of the better chefs along and then I need to check out whoever is handling supplies and make sure what vintages are available to give to the generals. Bringing gifts will guarantee my welcome in the right circles. You want the secret to my success, Hastur?" Before Hastur could reply, Crowley tapped a finger on Hastur's chest. "Preparation and organization. Have the sin ready and waiting, and tempting someone to fall into it is a piece of duck breast."

As Hastur's mouth opened, Crowley was gone with a self-satisfied grin. "I thought you didn't care for food," was a shouted afterthought but there was, of course, no answer from the thin air into which Crowley had vanished. Shrugging, Hastur grabbed his own piece of air and disappeared, as well. Evil, after all, was never-ending work.

************************************************

"What were you thinking of, Aziraphale. This place is disgraceful. Noisy. Dirty. And that baby!"

"Be fruitful and multiply," the angel reminded Gabriel, who grimaced, acknowledging the reminder.

Opening the door, they entered the much more elegant flat and Aziraphale could see momentary approval on Gabriel's face before it returned to its more habitual expression of annoyance. "How you could have let Crowley into your body, after I told you to just lead him on, I don't know. Your body is a temple," Gabriel repeated. "It's bad enough that you put food and alcohol into it, but to let him put..." Words failed the Archangel.

As this interchange had been repeated throughout their entire walk, Aziraphale accepted the abuse without excuses or explanation. In fact, there was something very satisfying about finally having his sin exposed so that he could remove it from his conscience, if he couldn't rip it from his heart.

Then he saw it. A parchment note that lay in the middle of the _corona civitas_ he'd last seen resting in Crowley's hair. With trembling hands, not even hearing Gabriel's continued whinging, Aziraphale picked it up and read the short message.

"Angel, I'm sorry to have gotten you into such trouble. And I'm sorry you never let me make love to you. It would have been glorious. Perhaps next time you'll let me show you what you missed."

At the bottom, Crowley had added, " _Nec, placerat in stirpe AGGER_."

While he was trying to understand what that implied, Gabriel appeared at his side, plucked the note from his hand and read it. Then he glanced at Aziraphale and read the note for a second time. Throwing it back on the table, he glared at Aziraphale. "And exactly why did you let me think that you'd been violated when you hadn't?"

The temptation to confess was almost overwhelming. The relevant word was "almost." Aziraphale could feel Crowley standing at his shoulder. "I wanted to shag him. And the desire was as bad as the act. I deserve whatever judgment you feel should fall on me."

Just stopping himself from sweeping objects from the table to the floor in his frustration, Gabriel shouted, "How many times do I have to tell you that being tempted is no sin. Giving in to temptation is the sin. How do you expect to go out in the world and care for souls if you can't tell the difference." Temptation apparently being too much for even Gabriel, he did whack the silver cup from the table, but Aziraphale was able to catch it before it hit the floor. A momentary embarrassment crossed Gabriel's features and then was gone.

"Alright. So you were tempted to let him get a leg over. But you didn't. Whatever you did do," he held up a hand to stop Aziraphale from telling him, "you didn't cross the line I gave you." A snap of his fingers and a comfortable, straight-backed chair appeared onto which Gabriel sat, leaving Aziraphale to stand uncomfortably before him. It was a full two minutes before Gabriel continued.

"At the end of this adventure, we're probably in a better place than we were when we started. I hadn't thought of having any sort of a weapons program, so if the other side hasn't done anything along that lines, we're ahead of them. And if they have, then what we're doing is essential and the lack of it could have been devastating. So, it's worked out well."

"You, I hope, have learned a valuable lesson from this. If Crowley hasn't been reduced to his fundamental elements, you'll know to keep more distance from him in the future. His job is tempting people. We can only hope that if you do have to deal with him again, you'll understand the whole concept of temptation better than you have up to now. Hopefully, that will make you better at your own assignments."

"So I think we can consider this adventure as over. And perhaps even as successful. In fact, given that you resisted Crowley in the face of his reputed skill at his work, why don't I give you your choice of where your next assignment will be? You could even stay here, if you wanted." The expression on Gabriel's face said he couldn't imagine why anyone would want that, but Aziraphale was frequently beyond his comprehension. "Or you could go to Athens. I'd think you'd like that better. If you stay here, maybe you could find yourself a better flat."

Wandering over to the table, Aziraphale ran his finger through a tiny pile of blue sand that hadn't been there before. "Britain," he said without turning around. "I'd like to follow the army into Britain. Even without demonic help, war brings out the worst in people, and I think they could use someone offering them some alternatives."

"Aziraphale, you positively amaze me. Perhaps I've been wrong about you. You are starting to see a larger picture. Fine, Britain it is. Tell me when you want to leave..."

"Now," Aziraphale interrupted. "Just let me make arrangements about my flat and I'll be on my way. And, as you so often have suggested, I'll make my way to the head of the army so that I can put my influence to work where it will have the most impact."

Getting up, Gabriel clapped Aziraphale on the shoulder. "There's hope for you yet." From midair, Gabriel plucked a small houseplant that he handed to the angel. "Keep it close. I don't want to always be showing up at your door. The chair disappeared and Gabriel turned toward the door before pausing and turning back. "That note. What did Crowley mean by 'Don't invest in viaduct stock?'"

Shaking his head, Aziraphale walked him to the door. "I have not the faintest idea." As the door closed behind Gabriel, a grin split Aziraphale's face. "But I intend to ask him."

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End file.
